Hermione's hands shook slightly as she shuffled the thought into the back of her mind.
And — he had come to her as soon as she'd arrived. Despite his injuries. He'd come.
She wondered if that meant something.
Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place and went immediately up to her room. Before walking in, she peered surreptitiously around the door to ensure the room was empty.
Harry and Ginny were “not” together. Ginny had sought Hermione out several weeks before to assure her of that detail. It had simply been a fling. In the heat of the moment.
There was apparently a lot of heat, given that Hermione had nearly walked in on them a dozen times since.
Hermione, along with everyone else in Grimmauld, was feigning ignorance over Harry's dramatically improved mood. He'd bound through the house like a joyous stag.
Hermione pulled her notebook from beneath her bed and muttered the counter-charms for the security measures she had placed on it.
She flipped through the pages carefully. Looking over everything she'd written, taking note of how her opinions and theories had evolved and scattered. She nibbled on the tip of her quill as she underlined a comment she had made weeks before.
Lonely. Isolated.
She was growing convinced that it was a central pillar to him. Dead mother. Insane father. Ambitious friends all devoted to their own self-preservation.
Whatever was driving Malfoy to cast himself off from Voldemort and throw in his lot with the Order was probably a secret from everyone.
There was no room for honesty and friendship while serving under the rule of a megalomaniac who was the most powerful legilimens in the wizarding world.
Hermione was almost certain that no one on Voldemort's side knew Malfoy was a spy. He wouldn't possibly risk it.
Hermione could be a safe repository for his secrets. If she got him to trust her. If her occlumency was good enough, he'd be able to rationalise it to himself. She'd turn his strengths into weaknesses she could capitalise on.
She poked her head under her bed in search of a psychology book she wanted to reference. As she looked over the books piled up, she stilled—
They had been moved.
The difference was slight, but she was certain. Someone had been snooping under her bed. She cast a detection spell that came back blank.
She looked back at her notebook. She cast a series of charms and analytic spells on it, looking for tampering. There were no signs.
She stared under the bed again, and then around the room.
Kreacher.
The dratted elf rarely did more than sulk and insult people, but occasionally he would go on a half-hearted cleaning spree.
The room did appear to have been dusted. Ginny's generally unmade bed had been straightened somewhat.
Hermione relaxed slightly, but she cast several extra spells on her books and a ward that would notify her if anyone were to disturb the books again. She also added a very thorough self-destruction spell on the notebook if it were tampered with by anyone.
As she was standing up to leave, Ginny walked in.
“You're back early,” Ginny said.
Hermione glanced down at her watch. She was. Her meetings with Malfoy were regularly exceeding the allotted half-hour. It was the first time she'd returned before 8:30. Normally Hermione had to rush to store the potion ingredients before her 9:30 shift in the hospital ward.
“Lucky day,” Hermione said.
“Yeah,” said Ginny, looking slightly awkward. “Um. I wanted to — ask you about something.”
Hermione waited.
Ginny tugged nervously at her hair. She'd kept it cut in a bob just past her chin ever since a long ponytail had been grabbed during a battle, and she'd been nearly killed by a hag.
“I — well — you, obviously know about me and Harry,” Ginny said.
Hermione gave a short nod.
“Right. Well. The thing is, I want to be careful. I've been using the charm. But — there's something about Prewetts; they're not like other wizarding families. They just get pregnant somehow. Ron and I were both accidents after the twins came along. So — I was wondering if you'd make me a contraceptive potion. If you have the time. I was always rubbish at potions. If you can't — that's fine. I can ask Padma. I know you're terribly busy. I just — I didn't want you to think I didn't want to ask you.”
“Of course. I'll be brewing tonight anyway. It will be an easy thing include. Do you have a preference about taste? The most effective ones don't taste very pleasant.”
“I don't care what it tastes like if it works,” Ginny said boldly.
“Well, I've already got a few vials of one variety. I can give them to you now, if you'd like.”
“You do?” Ginny blinked and stared at Hermione suspiciously. “Are you—?”
Hermione could see Ginny running a list of possible men in Hermione's life.
“You're not — with Snape, are you?” Ginny suddenly choked.
Hermione gaped.
“God — No!” she said, spluttering and waving her hands as though she were trying to ward something off. “I'm a healer! I keep a lot of things on hand. Good grief! What — why would you even—“
Ginny looked slightly abashed.
“He's just the only person you ever seem to talk to for long. Aside from Fred, who's with Angelina. Everyone else you just end up fighting with. And not in the hot and bothered, angsty sex later kind of way.”
“That doesn't mean I'm shagging him,” Hermione muttered, feeling as though her face were about it burst into flames. “He's a colleague. I consult with him about potions.”
“You just seem lonely,” Ginny said, giving Hermione a long look.
Hermione started slightly and stared at Ginny.
“You don't talk to anyone anymore,” Ginny said. “You used to always be with Ron and Harry. But even before you left to become a healer, you've seemed more and more alone. I thought — maybe you had someone. Granted, Snape would be a weird choice for a lot of reasons — but, it's a war. It's too much for anyone to handle alone.”
“Cathartic shagging is Ron's thing. Not mine,” Hermione said stiffly. “Besides, it's not like I'm fighting.”
Ginny looked at her pensively for a moment, before saying “I think that hospital ward is worse than the battlefield.”
Hermione looked away. She had sometimes wondered if it might be, but it had never been a question she could ask anyone.
Ginny continued “I think of it every time I'm in there. In the field — everything is so focused. Even when someone's injured. You just apparate them away and then head back. You win some. You lose some. You get hit sometimes. You hit back. You get days to recover if it's bad, or if your dueling partner dies. But in the hospital ward, every battle looks like losing. I'm always more traumatised after being in there than I am by fighting.”
Hermione was silent.
“You don't ever get time off,” Ginny added. “They can never spare you long enough to let you grieve. I know from Harry and Ron that you're still pushing for dark arts when you go to the Order meetings. I don't agree — but I get it. I realise that you see the war from a different angle from us. Probably the worst one. So — I'm just saying, if you had someone, I'd be really happy for you. Even if it was Snape.”
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“You should probably stop talking now if you still want that contraceptive potion,” Hermione said with a glare.
Ginny snapped her mouth shut. Hermione grabbed her satchel off the bed.
“Come on. They're in my potion supply closet,” Hermione said, walking out of the bedroom.
The vials were all stored up on the top shelf in a small box. Hermione pulled out a dozen and put them into a small pouch for Ginny.